The Remnants
by Rayven49
Summary: Susan and Lucy were just going on a half day's journey through the Western Woods for a simple, friendly visit. But the Trees have other ideas... Part of my "The Lion and the Fox" verse, but only minor characters are used. Can be read alone. One-shot.


**Hello, hello! Wow, it's so wonderful to be back. Studying abroad's been amazing, and it turns out I've spent all my free time traveling, so while I've been doing some fantastic writing for my courses, I've done none outside it. But this weekend I got all my homework done early and put aside my job assignments, because I've felt that warning, building pressure to write something the past few days. And here it is. **

**Reader beware: this is dark, like most of what I seem to write in this universe. But it ends ok, I promise.**

**LAHH: So glad you liked TLATF's ending. Can't wait to see what you think of this!**

**Green: So pleased you enjoyed TLATF. This is a sisterly adventure, but I hope you like it anyway!**

**Guest: Thank you for reading and reviewing. Let me know your thoughts on this new piece!**

**Narniadreamer1: I'm delighted to you liked TLATF's ending and how I worked in a concept of faith. It was a pleasure.**

**dreamystorm37: Thanks for favoriting TLATF. Don't hesitate to review!**

**/**

**Disclaimer: I don't claim Lewis or Eliot.**

**/**

_**The Remnants**_

"**Between midnight and dawn, when the past is all deception,**

**The future futureless, before the morning watch**

**When time stops and is never ending…**

**Where is there an end to it, the soundless wailing…?"**

**-T. S. Eliot, "The Four Quarters"**

**/**

It should have been only half a day's journey.

Intellectually, Susan knows delays are inevitable and usually accidental. Yes, she knows her horse, Charro, throwing a shoe the night prior and needing to be reshod was absolutely no one's fault; the hailing thunderstorm that forced them to shelter in a cave for a quarter-hour until there was less threat of being brained by ice-clods was the sensible response; and the lack of ample daylight was the logical result of shortening days as winter came on.

Yes, Susan knows all this and more, but it makes her no less impatient, and today she is having trouble hiding behind her usual veneer of control.

She turns in the saddle to catch her sister's eye and says calmly, "I told you we should have started before noon."

"Yes, Su, you've said." Lucy ducks, barely avoiding a dangerously sharp tree branch.

"Here, bring over a light!" Susan calls sharply.

There's a low chorus of 'yes, my lady,' and Captain Plinustrots forward with a flaming lantern lifted high. Water drips from his horns, clings to his hairy legs. He'll be chilled through once the sun sets.

Which should be—Susan checks the sky—in less than thirty minutes.

She takes the lamp from Plinus, smiling her thanks, then raises it to look down the path, throwing the shadows of her and Lucy's guard across the trees.

"A half day's journey in fair weather or foul," she grouses, "Knoton promised. He has flown this trail many times before."

"So he flies faster than we ride," Lucy says reasonably. "The Narnians are still getting used to our speeds. We should have checked the distance against the maps."

"Which in this part of the Western Woods are notoriously unreliable." Sometimes Susan uses big words on her younger sister in an attempt to confuse her into losing an argument, but here the meaning is unmistakable.

"Edmund said he'd get to that," Lucy says stubbornly.

"That was months ago!"

"We've only been here seven months—oh, oh!" With an almighty crash, Lucy rides into another tree branch and tumbles off her horse, taking the rotted length of wood with her.

Susan is off Charro in seconds, kneeling at her little sister's side. In the seven months she and her siblings have ruled Narnia, they have made tremendous strides—in learning how to govern as well as growing up, themselves. But Lucy's still young, and even on her mild mare, Adela, her balance can be uncertain.

Hefting the lantern, Susan checks her sister over for injuries. "All right, dear?" she asks, smoothing a hand over Lucy's coppery hair.

Lucy nods sheepishly. "It's hard to see, is all. I'm not hurt." Her eyes go wide, and she looks up at the tree that felled her, a towering yew. "I'm sorry! Are you all right?"

There is no reply. In the distance, a squirrel chitters, then goes quiet. Adela stamps a hoof.

Lucy bites her lip. "Is it angry at me?" She places a careful hand on the splintered branch, rotted and leafless.

"Not all trees have spirits, Your Majesty," Plinus explains. "I don't think you have offended." He glances around the shadowed path before his sharp gaze settles on Susan. "I'd like to scout ahead, Your Majesty. I expect we're quite close to the edge of the Woods now. Once we reach the open road, we shall travel all the quicker and be at the Raccoons' lodgings before we have ridden long in the dark."

Susan nods. "Thank you, Captain. We will follow along after. Do take another guardsman with you."

The Faun shakes his head. "And leave you with but three guards? My Lady, your brothers, not to mention General Oreius, would never forgive me."

"You forget yourself, Captain," Susan snaps. "We ourselves have just as much military command as our brothers and our General."

Plinus recoils. "Yes, Your Majesty, of course. My apologies. Corporal Caius!"

A lean Satyr steps forward, hand on his sword hilt. "Sir."

"Accompany me further along. The rest of you, keep close to the Queens."

The other soldiers, a Board, a Greyhound, and a Stag, salute.

Lucy gives Susan a reproachful look. "Go in the Lion's wake," she says.

Plinus bows. "And with you both, Your Majesties."

Susan watches the Faun and Satyr start down the path. "Wait!" she cries. Snatching the rotted yew branch off the ground, she runs after them.

Plinus turns, a quizzical look on his bearded face.

"You may need a light," she says, feeling her face warm. She hopes the heat of the lantern disguises the flush of shame.

The Faun takes the branch, holding it steady while Susan opens the door of the lantern, then touches the flame to the wood. It blazes up into a torch. Plinus smiles slightly.

"My thanks, Gentle Queen."

"Aslan keep you both," she whispers, the words tight in her throat. She feels a trickle of sweat run down her back, though the season is cool enough for her wool cape.

"And you, my lady." Plinus claps his free hand on Caius's shoulder, and the pair walks on. Susan stands on the path, watching until they round the bend, until the light of their torch dies away.

"My lady, we'd best be going as well," Fionn, the Boar, says from behind her.

She blinks. "Yes, of course," she murmurs, and turns back to Charro.

Lucy, already remounted, holds the lantern while Susan swings herself into the saddle. When she takes the light back, she gets a good look at her sister's pale, pinched face, freckles stark against her skin.

"Lu, are you sure you're all right?"

"'M fine, Su, I promise."

She opens her mouth to argue, to point out that a quick examination of her outward physical reactions clearly shows she is in pain, and injuries should be dealt with, but a scream stops her.

More a wail, really. Faint, high, and agonized, from ahead of them on the path.

The lantern light gutters as Susan trembles.

"Wait here, Your Majesties," Private Daithi, the Greyhound, orders, her hackles rising.

"Don't go!" Lucy gasps. "Something's not right!"

"Yes, Your Majesty, and I fear for Captain Plinus and Corporal Caius."

Lucy clenches her fists. "We'll come with you!" She draws her dagger. "Safety in numbers; General Oreius says so."

Daithi whines. Her tail tucks between her legs.

"Valiant Queen, let the Private go," Lieutenant Cervo, the Stag, instructs. "Our numbers are dwindling. You need a guard in case we must turn for the Cair."

Susan looks over her shoulder, back the way they came. The Woods loom black. The air is blue with dusk.

"Go, Private, quickly. Bring the Captain and Corporal back. If we travel on, we go all together."

"Very good, my lady." With a low _whuff_, Daithi leaps forward, nose to the ground.

Susan closes her eyes. _Aslan, keep us between Your paws. _She had fought for this trip, a simple visit to the Raccoons, a wealthy and powerful clan on the other side of the Western Woods. A day's ride with a small guard; she and Lucy could manage without Peter and Edmund, who were preparing for a delegation from Archenland arriving next week. Yes, this was Edmund's domain, but simple manners were needed with the Raccoons, not sly diplomacy. She could do this.

She looks at their two remaining guards, a powerful Stag and a strong Boar, and still feels woefully unprepared. Susan goes to draw her bow, but with one hand hampered by the lantern, her weapon is useless.

The door of the lantern rattles as her hands begin to shake in earnest. Perhaps it is nothing, and the scream was merely the cry of a hunting owl.

And maybe if she straps paper wings to her back, she can pass for a Fairy.

"Let me take that, Su."

Susan jolts as Lucy's hand closes on the lantern, the fire sloshing in the oil. She allows Lucy to hold the light as she strings her bow, Charro shifting uneasily beneath her.

Lucy stares into the trees, jaw set, but her lip trembles. Her hair sticks damply to her forehead.

"You're being wonderfully brave, Lu," Susan says, drawing a scarlet-fletched arrow from her quiver. In the silence, the rattling of her weapon echoes.

"D'you hear that?" Lucy breathes.

Susan frowns. "Hear what?"

Lucy turns her face from the darkness, pupils swallowing up the color of her eyes. "That's just it," she whispers. "Nothing."

The branch swings out of nowhere, slamming into Cervo and lifting him off the ground. The Stag hits a tree trunk and slumps down without a sound, his antlers shattered.

Lucy screams.

"Ride, Your Majesties!" Private Fionn shouts, turning to face the Woods. "We are ambushed!"

Susan knees Charro's sides, and the gelding needs no further encouragement. He thunders down the path, Adela on his heels. Lucy clutches the lantern, its light wavering wildly, more hindrance than help.

The wind moans through the trees; there's a loud creaking, and Lucy shrieks.

Susan twists around in time to watch a massive hawthorn topple, just missing Adela's rump and leaving Fionn on the other side. She pulls up. "Private Fionn!"

"Ride on, Your Majesties!" the Boar bellows, his words fighting the wind, now risen to a gale. "Get out of th—"

"SUSAN!"

She only has time to look up before hurling herself from Charro's back, girl and horse screaming as one. A massive branch lands where they had been as Susan collides with a protruding root and feels the air forced from her lungs.

A second branch hurtles towards her like a spear, and she rolls into the darkness off the path, wheezing.

"Susan, Susan!"

Lucy's cry drags her to her feet, clutching her ribs. She fumbles through the leaf mold, and her fingers close on her bow. The wind catches her cape, streaming through it and tangling the wool in a gnarly bush. Susan tugs at the fabric frantically. A harsh gurgle escapes her throat as the fastenings drag at her neck. She unclasps it and slides free, staggering back towards the path, one hand held before her to ward off obstacles she can't see.

"Lucy," she calls hoarsely, "Lucy!"

"Su, don't—!"

And then the ground vanishes from beneath her feet and she's rolling, tumbling down. She pulls her bow to her chest, sheltering the fragile wood. Her quiver jars her spine, arrows clattering. She reaches out for anything to stop her fall—

Susan's temple cracks against something hard, and dusk becomes night.

She wakes to Lucy stroking a hand through her hair, and at first she fears she has gone blind. Her voice comes out in a whimper. "Lu?"

"Shh, Susan, you're all right. I've checked you over; nothing's broken."

"It's so dark."

Lucy gives a tiny, gasping laugh. "Well it's night, silly."

She sits up slowly. Her head feels liable to fall off her neck. "The lantern?"

A shudder runs through her sister. "Smashed, Su, I'm sorry."

"No, dear, no, it's not your fault. We—we—where are we?" She runs her hands along the ground, fingers tripping on small sticks and stones.

"Some sort of valley, I think. We fell off a cliff."

"By the Mane, we're lucky to be in one piece, then. The others?" Her eyes have adjusted to the darkness somewhat, and she can make out the shape of Lucy shaking her head.

"I haven't seen or heard them. We're alone." Her voice trembles. "No one knows we're here."

Susan clears her throat, takes her sister's hand. "That's all right," she says brightly. "We just need to climb out, find the path, and get to the Raccoons'. You can't hear anyone? Not even whoever attacked us? So they've gone. If we move quickly, we can get to our hosts before they even know we're late."

Lucy laughs again, but the sound is grating, utterly unlike her. "I think that's going to be a bit harder than you expect."

Susan shivers as the wind picks up again. She reaches for her cloak, then remembers. "Why's that, Lu? We've learned how to climb."

"Yes, but…oh, Su, I wasn't honest before."

Susan's mouth falls open. "You lied to me, Lucy?"

"Only a little," Lucy wails, "I didn't want you to worry, and while I was on Adela it didn't matter because I only twisted it a little, but falling down the hill made it worse; I'm sorry—"

"You _did_ hurt yourself earlier," Susan realizes. "Oh, Lu, what is it? Your ankle? You should have said something!"

Lucy sniffles. "I know. I'm sorry."

She sounds so small. Susan sighs and runs a hand through her hair, trying to recall what Oreius has told them about field dressings.

"Well then." She tugs at the hem of her gown. It doesn't tear. "Drat this thing!" she snarls.

"Here." Lucy holds out her dagger. Susan takes it and begins to cut. "Oh, Su, I'm so sorry. I know that was your new dress too."

"Don't be silly; I can't climb in all this fabric anyway." She yanks a long strip of cloth free. "Where's your ankle?"

Lucy places her leg in Susan's lap.

"Wipe your nose, dear," Susan admonishes, sliding off Lucy's boot. Her sister stifles a cry of pain as Susan probes the swollen joint. "Certainly sprained, but maybe not broken, so that's something, isn't it?" She wraps the ankle before sliding Lucy's foot back into her boot, rolling the top down to reduce pressure. "Can you walk at all, Lu?" She fumbles for her sister's face, tucks her hair behind her ears.

"I can try," Lucy answers doubtfully.

"Brave girl." Susan kisses her cheek. She rises, shouldering her bow. "Come on, then." She holds out her hand, struggling to keep her voice steady.

They manage only a few steps before Lucy collapses against her, sobbing. "I can't, oh, Su, I can't!"

"There, there," Susan soothes, head pounding, "we'll think of something else. Shh, Lu—shh!" She claps her hand over her sister's mouth. Lucy clings to her waist, quivering.

The wind whispers through the trees like speech. A shower of pine needles rains down on them. Branches creak.

Susan understands.

Their attackers haven't gone. They are all around them.

Susan taps Lucy's chin to get her attention, then points upwards. She mouths, _"The Trees."_

Lucy looks at the Woods in horror, then tugs Susan down so she can whisper in her ear. "They must have been on _her_ side."

Susan's blood turns to ice in her veins. She sends a quick prayer of thanks to Aslan for keeping Edmund from this journey.

But now what are they to do? Leaving Lucy to go for help is out of the question. But no one knows they are here, and they can't stay where the Trees can find them. _Aslan, help us, please._

For an instant the breeze turns warm and gentle, smelling of springtime and newly-turned earth. Susan remembers tramping across green fields towards Aslan's Camp, Lucy darting ahead to dance amongst clouds of cherry petals, now lagging behind to splash through a stream, now clinging to Peter's back as she grew tired, still humming snatches of birdsong.

Susan twists her bow and quiver to hang from her front, then crouches before Lucy. "Up," she commands.

"You can't—"

"Don't tell me what I can't; no one tells me what I can't." Her voice is steel.

Lucy clambers onto her back, locking her wrists against Susan's collarbone. Slowly, Susan rises, bracing her knees against Lucy's added weight. Her spine curves, her legs tremble. Lucy's right. She can't do it, she can't.

She must.

Susan takes one staggering step. Another. Another. On.

And on.

Chin resting on her shoulder, Lucy begins to hum, and Susan giggles in spite of herself. It's a bawdy marching song Peter and Edmund learned from some Privates and immediately ran about shouting, until Oreius gave them all laps around the training grounds. Though not before Lucy learnt the dirty lyrics by heart. And though Susan disapproved, she couldn't be the only one not to know, so she'd gotten a frightened Private to teach her every verse. She wishes she had breath to join in.

_My helmet is on,_

_my armour is tight,_

_my tail is swinging,_

_Left to right._

_Left—_

_Right—_

_Left—_

_Right…_

"Where are we going, Su?" Lucy mumbles sleepily.

"Valley has to come out somewhere," Susan grunts. She flinches. Imagine, her! Grunting! "Don't sleep, Lu, please. I need you. Keep singing."

Lucy yawns widely. Instead of starting up the marching ditty again, she slips into a hymn, one of their favorites.

_Eternal is Your might, O Aslan,_

_all life is Your power to save!_

_With love You sustain the living,_

_with great compassion give life to all._

_You send help to the falling and_

_healing to the sick;_

_You bring freedom to the captive and_

_keep faith with those who sleep in the dust…_

Susan finds her steps are lighter, even as she fumbles for footing. The pain in her head pulses, but it is tolerable. Lucy's weight is a comfort on her back.

The ground begins to slope gently upwards, and Susan's heart rises with it. They can make it. They will make it.

"_Susan, get down!"_

Releasing Lucy, Susan rolls, back coming up hard against the rocky side of the valley. Branches whistle overhead, reaching for her.

"Lucy!"

She sees the dim form of her little sister opposite her, pressed against the dirt slope. Lucy stands shakily on one leg, staring up at the Trees. It is too dark to make out anything else. What she wouldn't give for a light!

"Why do you do this?" Lucy cries, voice strongest it's been all night. "The Witch is dead! The war is over!"

The wind goes still. The Woods go silent. Above them on the cliff edge, a dark figure steps out of a Tree. Susan can't make out any of his features. When he speaks, his voice rustles like leaves rubbing together.

"Winter is returning."

"Winter always returns; the seasons are cyclical," Susan says harshly. "After winter will come spring. Your Queen is gone—permanently. Winter will not bring her back."

What sounds like a thousand branches shake and shudder above her. Susan sinks to the ground, sheltering her face from falling twigs and nuts. Her knee slams against a rock, and she cries out.

"We can bring her back," the Hamadryad hisses. "You will not stop us. And when we present you to Her, She will reward us."

The Trees twist and turn, moaning, "Our Queen, our Queen…"

Susan digs into the soil, grasps the rock she fell on. It fits snugly in her fist. "Come and get us, then!" she yells. She can't see well enough to shoot, but if someone gets close, a rock will be effective.

The Hamadryad laughs like branches scratching stone. "We have no need to come down," he says.

"Please, stop this," Lucy pleads. "You can still be pardoned. Don't go too far—stop, stop it! Susan!" She writhes, shrieking, and Susan gapes in horror as roots break free of the earth wall and wrap around her sister.

"No!" She's across the valley in three strides, wrenching at the roots. "Let her go—Lucy, your dagger!" But the blade is buried beneath a root at Lucy's hip, and she can't work it free. Clods of dirt and bits of stone pelt them as more roots twine around Lucy's body, binding her tighter and tighter. She gasps for air, choking on soil.

Susan yelps as a root wraps around her own wrist, and strikes it with the rock in her other hand. The rock scrapes something harder than wood, and sparks fly through the air.

With a squeal, the root lets go. Susan stares, then lunges for it, catching the wood in her hand. It spirals and slides, trying to work out of her grip. She cries out, feeling the skin on her palm shredding, but holds on, fingernails digging into the wood.

There's a small stone lodged in the root. The wood has grown around it. Susan holds the root still, strikes stone against stone.

Sparks flare.

More squeals of pain. Susan strikes again, turning the rock so the sparks fall on Lucy's bindings, hoping she doesn't burn her sister.

Above them, the Hamadryad howls.

In the flashes of light, Susan catches sight of the rocks: quartz in her hand, a glittery sort of pyrite in the root.

_Flash._

She glimpses the Hamadryad's twisting face, piney hair on end with shock. He convulses as sparks bite his liferoots.

_Flash._

Lucy, slumped forward, eyes shut, roots covered in fungus coiled about her torso.

Susan screams, slams the rocks together. Sparks arc in the space between the sisters, settle on the fungus, begin to smoulder, smoke, flame.

_Burn._

The roots draw away from Lucy, thrashing. Susan catches her sister as she falls, drags her across the valley to lean against the stone slope. The roots beat against the earth, but the fire has caught, roars its way upwards. The Hamadryad begins to glow, orange light seeping from his skin. He screeches. His hands begin to smoke.

"My brothers, my sisters! Avenge me! Avenge our Queen!"

He goes up in a pillar of fire as his Tree tips over, roots burnt away. Susan cradles Lucy, her panting breath the only sound aside from the crackling wood. She brushes twigs and ash from her little sister's clothes. "Lu," she sobs, "Lucy?"

With a heaving gasp, Lucy coughs up a lungful of dirt, and buries her face in Susan's shoulder, shaking.

Susan runs spasming fingers through Lucy's hair. It looks aflame in the firelight.

They stay huddled in the valley a long time, watching the Pine Tree die. When Susan breaks off a root to use as a torch, there is no protest from the other Trees, though she can feel them watching.

Lucy holds the torch up high as Susan carries her sister up the slope and back to the path. It is a slow, agonizing journey. They don't speak. Susan can feel the eyes of the Trees pressing down on her, and she feels an answering heat in her heart as if it is she who burns, not the Pine Tree behind her.

Standing Lucy on the path, Susan takes the branch from her sister's filthy hands and raises it up, sweeping it left and right.

"Well?" she demands. "Who's next? Who wants to try us next? Who dares?"

There's no response. The Woods are hushed.

"Are you afraid?" she jeers. "Cowards. COWARDS!" She runs at the nearest tree on impulse, flaming root aimed for its trunk. A Hamadryad bursts from its heart, hands outstretched.

"Mercy, Gentle Queen, mercy!"

"You dare beg me for _mercy_?" Susan hurls the root at the Tree, the Hamadryad screams—and the root is caught in someone's hand.

Susan stills.

Edmund stands before her, between her and the Tree. He holds the fiery root in his hand. His eyes are blazing.

"Susan," he says softly, "Su. It's over."

She sighs, and falls forward without a word. Edmund drops the root and catches her, holding her upright. She gasps out a garbled name, and somehow he understands.

"Lucy's safe; Peter has her, see?" He turns her carefully so she can see Lucy cradled in Peter's arms. The pair of them watch her, eyes wide and wary.

"All right, Su?" Peter asks huskily. "You with us?"

She feels Edmund straightening her weapons into place. "The guards," she mumbles.

"We haven't found them all yet. Oreius is still looking for Plinus and Caius, though he thinks there won't be much to find. Caius may have been a spy. The others are safe, including the horses." He extends a foot, stamps out the root. There is lantern light enough now from the contingent of soldiers ringed around them.

"How did you…?"

"When you didn't arrive at the Raccoons', they sent a Bird to us, and we came as fast as we could."

Somehow she's on Philip, Edmund at her back. Peter's mounted Atrequis, Lucy leaning against his chest. Susan shifts to the side so Edmund can see past her shoulder.

"The Trees," she forces out, "they're on her side."

Edmund's hands flex on the reins. "Not anymore."

Her eyes slip closed. "We'll have to send our apologies to the Raccoons. I'll put together a gift basket. I hope they aren't offended."

Edmund huffs out a laugh. "I'm sure they'll understand."

They ride in silence. Around them, night creatures find the courage to stir. Peter and Lucy speak in undertones.

"You were incredible, Su," Edmund says quietly, awed. "Absolutely brilliant."

She shifts in the saddle. "They tried to hurt Lucy," she murmurs, then falls asleep.

Edmund lightly kisses her cheek, the action still tentative and new. When he looks up at the Trees, his expression is bleak. "Don't think I'll forget this," he says lowly. The branches rustle in terror.

Susan awakens as they reach the tree line. The Cair is visible in the distance. As she watches, the sky pinks. The sun is rising. She sits up as Lucy turns in the saddle to look at her, then blows her a kiss. Susan smiles, catching it in bloodied hands. She presses the kiss to her heart; watches the sun rise in the east.

Glory unto the morning.

**/**

**Please review! **

**Whee dark and disturbing, but I think that especially at the beginning of their reign, Narnia would be a dangerous place, and with everyone still not sure how to work with the Kings and Queens, ambushes would be easy and planning would be poor. They'll learn. **

**I also wanted to look at Susan figuring out the person she wants to be and how to meld that with the person she has to be. Sometimes being the Gentle is a burden. Don't think she'll forget this, either.**

**Susan's twelve, Lucy's eight.**

**Plinus and Caius are names inspired by Pliny, a Roman intellectual, and Caius, after Caius Cassius, one of the plotters of the murder of Julius Caesar.**

**Daithi – Irish, fleet of foot**

**Cervo – Latin, hart**

**The first song is an edited Marine Corps chant. The second is a translation of the second part of the Amidah, a Jewish prayer. This section is called Gevurot, or "powers". **


End file.
